


Room Service

by MoanDiary



Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [10]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Food, Fuckruary 2020 (Lucifer TV), Prompt: Hotel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:40:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22658686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MoanDiary/pseuds/MoanDiary
Summary: “It’s not about eating all of it, it’s about eating as much as you want of whatever you want."
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Moan Your Way Through Fuckruary [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1626784
Comments: 20
Kudos: 174





	Room Service

He doesn’t like the hotel room. It’s clear from the first moment that they step into their suite and put down their bags; he starts complaining immediately. The shower isn’t big enough. There aren’t enough pillows. The television in the little sitting room is mounted too high, and it has one of those inscrutable remotes.

Chloe rolls her eyes. He’s the one that picked this place. It’s odd for Lucifer to not find the best of the best in all things, but apparently he missed the mark here. Or at least his mark. To her undiscriminating eye, it’s the nicest hotel room she’s ever set foot in outside of a homicide investigation. She hopes he’ll be able to find it in him to enjoy their anniversary here despite all his thoughts on the room’s inadequacies.

She wraps her arms around him from behind as he fusses with a slightly squeaky drapery pull rod. She rises up on her toes to whisper in his ear. “Are you going to complain all day or are you going to make love to me?” She punctuates the question by sucking his earlobe into her mouth, and she can feel him melt against her.

“Bold of you to assume I can’t easily do both,” he murmurs, reaching back and sliding his hands from her ass down the backs of her thighs, bending his knees. She has a split second to be alarmed when his hands suddenly tighten and he throws her weight forward onto his back, picking her up piggy-back style and jogging a lap around the large room as she squeals and clasps her arms around his neck. He comes to a halt at the foot of the huge bed and drops her onto it. She giggles, panting and grinning up at him, feeling like a teenager in the blush of first love. How does it _still_ feel like that with him?

“Now,” he says, rubbing his hands together and appraising her. “Where shall we begin?”

* * *

His head pops up from between her legs like a meerkat at the sound of a knock on their hotel room door, hair in disarray, eyes wide and alert.

“Don’t stop,” she gasps, attempting to pull his head back down, but it’s like trying to bend a steel beam.

“That will be the room service I ordered,” he says, mouth stretching in an eager grin before he bounces off the bed, pulls on one of the plush hotel bathrobes, wipes his mouth with his forearm, and leaves the bedroom to answer the door. Chloe pouts and presses her legs together, trying to ease the ache between them.

She listens to muffled discussion as Lucifer tips (and, who’s she kidding, likely flirts with) the room service attendant. Then he wheels a cart back into the room. It’s laden with a whole buffet’s worth of food. Oysters on ice, caviar, smoked salmon, cured ham. A salad of cherry tomatoes and parmesan in olive oil. Two elegantly prepared braised lamb shanks in dark wine sauce. Garlicky roasted potatoes. Spicy sautéed greens. A tureen of fresh peas in butter with mint. A whole roasted chicken, crispy golden skin studded with herbs. A platter of fancy cheeses and a crusty baguette. A bowl of olives. A cluster of plump red grapes. Chocolate mousse. Crème brûlée. A plate of macarons every color of the rainbow.

“Wow,” she says. 

Lucifer’s eyebrows waggle proudly.

“How in the world are we gonna eat all of that?”

He sighs, shoulders slumping in exasperation. His bathrobe is endearingly askew, exposing much more of his left collarbone than his right. She contemplates standing up on her knees to lick it. 

“It’s not about eating all of it, it’s about eating as much as you want of whatever you want,” he says. He dips a finger into the small bowl of caviar, scoops some out, and leans over her, lowering it to her lips. She sucks his finger into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it suggestively. His eyes darken as he watches his it slowly slide free of her lips.

She has to admit—it tastes good. And as turned on as she is, she’s also starving. Uncharacteristically, he didn’t stop anywhere to buy snacks on the drive up from L.A. and she hasn’t had anything to eat today but a cup of coffee and an apple before she left home. She licks her lips and gives him the wry smile she gives him every time she decides to give in to one of schemes, and he grins at her, pleased. He sits at the end of the bed before the cart and she scoots up beside him. There are two empty plates on the cart and he hands her one and takes the other for himself. They heap them with anything and everything that appeals to them. Chloe runs out of room on her plate more quickly than she’d expected.

“Aw,” she says, eyeing the untouched desserts longingly. 

“My dear, we have all the time in the world,” Lucifer laughs, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “And I do hope you’re willing to make this a cheat weekend, because there’s much more on the menu than what we have here.”

Chloe lifts a chicken thigh to her mouth and takes a hearty bite, then moans at the salty crunch of the skin and the burst of butter and juices in her mouth. “Hoh muh gob,” she says through her mouthful. After chewing and swallowing—”This is amazing.”

Lucifer smiles proudly. “This hotel is subpar for the price, but the attached restaurant is run by Chef Amelia Engels, a culinary genius by my estimation. It’s worth suffering the awful bathroom configuration for the quality of the room service.”

Chloe nods, immediately distracted by the taste of a forkful of the lamb shank, then a mouthful of perfectly crispy and creamy roasted potatoes, topped with a vinegary aioli studded with capers.

Lucifer watches her eat for a few long moments before digging in himself. He slurps down a couple of oysters with a salacious look on his face, moaning appreciatively. Chloe watches him, feeling her cheeks heat, swallowing carefully. She slides her free hand into the opening of his robe and palms his half-hard cock.

“They really _are_ an aphrodisiac, huh?”

Lucifer licks his lips. “ _You’re_ an aphrodisiac, my dear.”

She takes a bite of a soft, juicy slice of nectarine and leans over to kiss him, gently pushing it into his mouth. He hums softly, chewing as he pulls away. Under her possessive hand, she feels his member twitch.

“Hungry, huh?”

His eyes dart down her body. “Ravenous.”

She leans over to the food cart, scoops a spoonful of the thick chocolate mousse and lies back onto the bed before smearing it onto the tip of her breast. She puts the spoon in her mouth to suck it clean, shooting Lucifer her best seductive look, which probably still isn’t much compared to those of many of the women he’s been with. It seems to do it for him well enough, though.

He bends his head to her immediately, licking and sucking at her nipple until it’s clean as a whistle, until she arches up off the bed under his attentions.

He hums deep in his chest, more a growl than anything else. “I’m going to keep you to myself in this room all weekend,” he purrs, fingers sliding down between her legs. “Give you everything you desire and more.”

She can’t help the pathetic little whimper that escapes her. She expects him to smirk, but instead she opens her eyes to find him gazing at her with that strange, serious expression he sometimes has, brow creased in concentration. Like he’s trying to commit this to memory.

“Hey,” she whispers, reaching out to him. “Come here.”

He goes easily into her arms, and when they kiss, he tastes sweeter than the chocolate on his lips, sweeter than crisp, caramelized sugar or delicate almond pastry.

“Happy anniversary, Detective,” he murmurs when they finally pull apart.

She sneaks a hand up and dabs a blob of mousse onto the tip of his nose.

“You—you miscreant,” he sputters as she giggles at him, swiping as his nose with the back of his hand. Two years ago she would never have imagined Satan himself being brought so low. “Now I know where the urchin gets it!”

He pins her and tickles her mercilessly while she shrieks with laughter. Eventually the shrieks turn to sighs, then moans, then shrieks of a different sort. They eat what they want throughout the night until the cart is replaced by a new one for breakfast. 

They don't leave the room until the morning they check out, both well and truly sated.


End file.
